[5E] The Kalarian Precipice - Chapter One

[Carthum One-Tusk]

Carthum One-Tusk: The Grove

The crowds seemed smaller this year than last. Or larger? Carthum wandered through the crowd, but with a purpose; he couldn't be distracted by childish things like minstrels and food stands now. He was a cleric of Suru! And he had a mission at the moment, albeit a very simple and private one. Still, clerics of Suru never wavered from their mission!

There were quite a few orcs and half-orcs, though, their scattering numbers quite rowdy even among the noise of the crowds.

Carthum moved quickly on. He had made a bee-line through the edges of the festival, and now was coming upon his and his sister's 'secret place.' Of course, calling it as such was just a hold-over from when they had watched the festival growing up, and very few people would come out this far. It was hardly a good spot to watch! But you could still hear! The crowds had crept closer to their small grove, but this year, it still remained untouched.

Three old darkwood trees, knotted and gnarled, hung over the remains of an old stump. The trees could barely be said to have a canopy- they had few leaves, despite the bark looking quite healthy. The stump was big enough that even now, Carthum and Metea could sit comfortably on it.

There were a lot of old rumors about their favorite spot, some involving lightning strikes and a storm sent by sister spring, and others about a dryad, but when Carthum had asked an elder member of the church, she had said that the tree had just died and fallen over from old age. Even trees aged.

Carthum stayed standing for now, one hand to his brow as he scanned the crowd for Metea. She tended to stick out, but in this huge crowd, even a tiefling could go unnoticed!

She had better hurry, though. The council was already starting to address the crowd!

 

[Metea]

Metea: The Grove (or, nearly so!)

Now this- this kind of crowd, Metea liked. She moved through the bustle and the excitement- aloof and proud, feathery tail swishing behind her like a cat that had spotted interesting prey. Perhaps there were some eyes on her, but those eyes were of lust and envy, were they not? Indeed, despite a late night, she still looked sleeker than the farmers in the mud.

Look at them... so jealous of you. None of them have secrets worth knowing.

Metea's mood had improved drastically the further she had gotten from the church. Moreso than usual, even. The whispers in her ear were even sounding quite happy. She must've managed, today, to please it.

Already, the sun was rising, and the latest creaky old Councillor had begun his drone into the field. To say that people stopped their gallivanting would be a stretch, at least around her, but a few people did seem to pay attention. Metea looked over their heads, traced the crowd, until she spotted a familiar flash of bright red hair.

Ah, what was he doing out here- chatting up the locals? Metea strutted up to him- if anything, she was strutting more than even before, were that possible. She seemed to be interrupting something- but with who? Some farmers? Please. She'd brush him with her tail. Get lost, did he?

Good. He knows many secrets.

She was sure Carthum wouldn't mind if she was a bit late...

 

[Otiroth]

Otiroth: Exotic wares

Otiroth was not trying particularly hard to pretend he wasn't listening. He'd pause when the farmer and his daughter did, knocking some mud off of his boots against a rock.

The sorcerer heard rumors, here or there, of pretty strange and amazing things, but here was someone who it seemed may have seen something first hand. As the farmer turned his gaze back towards Otiroth, perhaps noticing that he was indeed now beginning to clearly eavesdrop, Otiroth fixed him with a winning smile. "Sorry sir, I was just passing by, and couldn't help overhearing. You wouldn't happen to be having some trouble with farm brownies, are you? My shop trades in some oils that will drive those critters right out."

Of course, most farmers could handle brownies. No, this was most certainly something else.

At that moment, Metea chose to appear, sauntering through the crowd like a cat on the prowl. And, much like a cat, she only chose to jump on someone's lap when they already had something else they were working on up there. "We also have some more... exotic ingredients," he offered the farmer. Her tail tickled Otiroth's back.

Otiroth was just a salesman, trying to sell his wares and help out, right?

 

[daindarkspring]

Dain: The Grove

Dain made his way slowly but purposely through the crowds, his laden pack still on his back. No sense going by the Apothecary’s shop since no doubt the old crone was out and about with the rest of the villagers. Voices carrying conversations he had no care for came and went as he pushed and coerced his way closer to the massive stone edifice. He chewed on some dry meat as he walked, ignoring any looks he may have received. His eyes were on the tower, and he listened to the voice that came from it. Despite having been in the village for several months, he was still an outsider and he was well aware of the fact. It didn’t help his reputation that he often disappeared into the mountains for days on end. Still, there were a few people who had been healed of an ailment by the Apothecary, and she had given him praise for finding rare medicinals. In this way, at least he assumed, he was not outright hated.

The closer he got, the denser the crowds became. He didn’t like being pressed in on all sides by people. They smelled. He was used to mountain air, after all. Hefting his pack up closer, wary of groping hands, he spied a spot that looked relatively open. An old stump by some trees. A half-orc was occupying some of the space, but surely there was room for him? He recognized the spot’s guardian as some sort of religious acolyte of Suru, and recalled having bumped into him on several occasions.

At any rate, it was a place clear of the more frenzied villagers, and that was very appealing. With a flicker of a grin, completely for himself, he headed over to the stump. Taking another piece of dried goat meat from a worn leather pouch at his side, he tore it in half as he approached the acolyte. Walking up, he made eye contact with the half-orc and nodded in greeting. Taking a seat on the stump, he offered up a half of jerky. “Mountain goat. Seasoned with herbs.” Despite the offer, Dain’s eyes and ears were clearly on the tower, and the pending issuance from it. It wasn’t that he was ignoring the half-orc, it was just that he seemed very focused on what was forthcoming.

 

[97mg]

Otiroth & Metea

Otiroth & Metea: The farmer crinkles his brow for a moment, before relaxing and offering a simple smile in return. It is not unnatural for strangers to introduce themselves on this auspicious day, indeed many trades are done and friendships are made in this very way.

“You are kind young man, if only it was just brownies that my girl gossips of.” His tone is polite enough, as he speaks through a tangley short beard. The deep tan of his skin, those lively eyes, a neck like a tree-stump, all round out a fellow who has labored hard and lived a good portion of his life under Marix’s sun. The accent in his words though, is unfamiliar to you.

Something else caught the farmer’s eye then, and the girl’s too, as she sucks in a breath inhaling an “oooh.”

The grip on his daughter’s hand tightens.

“Is that a… is that a… Tie-thing, father?”

There is an uncomfortable pause then, as he eyes the unusual lass who has arrived soaked in confidence.

Realizing that his wide eyes and silence might be construed as being a little rude, he summons a nervous smile and answers, “I believe so, Dira, but it isn’t polite to speak so.”

You get the impression his girl isn’t paying much attention to the lesson in manners. Her bright little eyes are wide and a small grin comes to her lips.

“I want to be like her. She’s beautiful! Can they come to the ceremony with us?”

<Post for Carthum & Dain imminent >

 

[97mg]

Carthum & Dain

Carthum & Dain: Sat on the semi-secret stump, you have a good view of the gathering’s fringes, soaking up the first words of this year’s spokesperson, who is clearly still warming up or suffering from nerves. Not surprising really.

Unlike the early birds and overly enthusiastic folk who arrived in the true darkness of night, those at the crowd’s outer edge are a little different. These plots are reserved for the late arrivals, the disorganized, weary travelers, and perhaps some wiser individuals who appreciate personal space, and know how to plot a swift exit...

It's a strange fusion of the distracted with minds upon other tasks, and some who may carry a sense of disappointment. It’s the rougher end of town, at least for a few hours. After that it's the Kalair taverns that bare the brunt.

Following the booming introduction from the tower, an eerie silence falls over the crowd. The next declarations from the ancient horn are going to be life-changing for many. A self fulfilling prophecy? Mind over matter? Superstition? One thing many will agree on is that year’s names DO make a difference, though they may not understand how… or why.

Among the throng you catch sight of something unexpected, a small feminine form weaving between those assembled with an action almost unprecedented. They are trying to get further away from the tower! It seems likely she will pop out of the fringe in a minute or two.

<Feel free to make perception checks, Dain d20+5 (yikes!), Carthum d20+2. The amount you glean from this situation will be proportional to the result. Do not fear, we will take your passive perception scores into account by default.>

 

[Carthum One-Tusk]

Carthum One-Tusk- The Grove

A friendly smile at the new arrival, and a nod of greeting. "Thank you, friend," he'd accept the jerky, pleased with a little bit of something to get the morning going. He'd rushed out the door without much thought to a morning meal, and a bit of meat hit the spot.

Carthum didn't mind the company- quite the opposite. Dain was someone he knew 'of' more than knew, as they had passed here or there. Human, but a bit of an outsider as well. Carthum had felt hints of the same, outside the church. Dain was fine by him. And he did not particularly mind the silence, either, because among this crowd, someone who was not chatting away or shouting at minstrels was so rare as to be Suru's miracle.

"It will be an auspicious year," he predicted, "but perhaps not a good one." Suru had a plan, he knew, and hardship gave people opportunity to rise up and face it.

The half-orc had his eyes on the tower, occasionally scanning the crowd for Metea.

<Perception check- 4. What are be things? >

 

[Metea]

Metea: Exotic Wares

"Did I interrupt a sales pitch?" Metea giggled a bit at Otiroth, realizing she was probably digging him in deeper, but not really caring at the moment. Look at this place- it was brimming with things to do aside from work! She didn't bring her books to the festival and try to get people to read them!

Actually, no, that was probably Carthum doing that at the moment; spreading the good word to dwarves and elves with scales!

Or perhaps there was something else going on? Metea had caught only the tail-end of it, what with being more concerned with what end her tail could swat at.

The farmer's reaction was not unexpected- Metea hated the fake civility, though she was admittedly too sheltered to realize what the alternative actually was. For the little girl, though, she had a big, honest smile. "Why, aren't you sweet!"

 

[Otiroth]

Otiroth: Exotic Wares

Otiroth's smile hadn't wavered- he was doing a pretty decent job pretending this was all perfectly normal. Though, on the second pass of Metea's tail, he'd manage to catch it with one hand just below the floof of feathers on the end. He did not need dusting!

All perfectly normal.

"Not a sales pitch," he countered, though he smiled at her. Well, maybe kind of a sales pitch.

"We wouldn't want to impose," he'd add quickly to the farmer. And he definitely didn't want to create a giant scene either, "though if you wouldn't mind some company, if only for a bit? It's the festival, after all. New company is good company." Maybe he could learn some more about the creatures bothering the farmer in the meantime, too. Otiroth was pretty sure he could talk his master into giving out some oils if it actually was just some mundane problem- or the sorcerer could work overtime for a few days- but if it was something much more exotic, he just had to know!

Besides, he had come to the festival to meet up with the tiefling- mission accomplished.

 

[daindarkspring]

Dain - The Grove

Dain chewed thoughtfully on a bit of meat, eyes slightly squinted in concentration as he listened to the proclamation that seemed to be coming at the rate of honey from a jar on a cold morning. “You are welcome.” He answered while still enthralled with the tower, his voice somewhat distant. Then a very small smile crept over his face. “That goat was well endowed, friend. Chew slowly, and some of his power could become yours.” Dain was certainly chewing slowly. His eyes flicked over to Carthum and he sized him up for a second. “Then again…”

He’s half-orc. Probably doesn’t need it. Oh well, it’s his lucky day.

Dain shrugged. “Well whether for boon or for ill-fortune, we shall all be in our graves before we find out if this old man can’t get the cursed words out.” Dain finished his bite and swallowed it in mild frustration. “I just need to know…” He trailed off, thinking again of the words of Essithea. Was it to be a year of blood? Would some small bit of his memory come to light? Was he doomed forever to be a man with no past?

A feminine form weaving through the fringe of the crowd caught his eye for some reason. Something about the way she was moving…

<Perception check = 20>